Push, shove, yell. Shove, yell, push. Trip.
Though not quite the beating one would have endured from Hurricane Isabel or Juan last month, dealing with the throng of media that blew into Fort Frances last Thursday to cover NDP leader and local MPP Howard Hampton on election night is as close to that blustery predicament as I want to get.
The calm before the storm started much earlier Thursday as a multitude of media covering radio, television, and print prepared for the evening by setting up cameras, doing sound checks, checking Internet connections, and testing light levels.
Three satellite trucks were parked outside La Place Rendez-Vous poised to send digitally-converted voice and image signals nearly instantaneously to head offices in Toronto and Winnipeg for the live broadcast that evening.
But it was the dozens of people scurrying around the Lady Frances Room on the second floor of the hotel that foreshadowed the night to come.
A minimum of eight television cameras were set up around the room—all pointed at a big bright NDP-orange backdrop that read “Public Power,” the party’s slogan during the campaign.
There was a grid of lights along the back wall behind the cameras, aimed at the stage to illuminate Hampton once he arrived. And the stage on which the backdrop was set was encircled by grids of hot lights and large speaker towers.
An ‘X’ on the floor at stage-left read media scrum. The old adage ‘X marks the spot’ came to mind as it showed all those gathered where the eye of the storm would hit.
Upon walking into the large room, the pungent smell of smoke became immediately apparent. As if the destruction already had begun, the smell eerily brought to mind burning extension cords though it was really artificial smoke used to create atmosphere.
At about T-minus three hours to Hampton’s appearance, things began to get more intense.
Media personalities—flown in from Toronto in a DeHaviland Dash 7 (one of the largest planes to land at the airport here)—primped their hair, did sound checks, and checked their hair again. Their handlers rushed around between camera cables and light stands caring for their every need.
NDP media handlers—a force in their own right—were wearing wireless headsets to keep in touch and darting around the hotel making sure the chaos was organized.
A sense of anticipation filled the room as everyone waited for election results to start trickling in and word as to when the NDP leader would whirl in.
I wandered the room. Back and forth taking it all in—and trying to stay out of the way. Those that noticed me at all took a paused look then turned away, dismissing me.
It’s a strange feeling when a local, yes me, can feel so out of place on his own turf. They’d developed a familiarity with each other, having travelled around the province in Hampton’s media bus together. I wasn’t part of their clique.
Revenge would be mine, though.
As the majority of the “big name” media had to sit back and wait for Hampton to make an appearance, I received word that I would get the privilege—along with a cameraman shooting a national feed and a Canadian Press photographer shooting for newspapers—to drop by the hallowed hotel room Hampton was holed up in waiting for the results.
For about four minutes, I felt like I had flown above the storm and was able to shoot its eye without having to deal with the winds. The feeling would be short-lived.
And though most media were, at best, indifferent to my presence, I will admit the photographer from Canadian Press was pleasant, if not patronizing.
He immediately adopted the role of father, or teacher, when he learned who I was. He made sure to mention out loud what settings he would use on his camera and how he’d shoot the scene.
Though unnecessary, it was comforting just the same.
Within moments, I was back in the Lady Frances Room, once again waiting for things to start. The room had filled in my absence—a large group of NDP supporters had now arrived. It was well after 7 p.m., when the polls had closed.
At that point, the room was frenzied. Above and beyond the noise of the media preparing and doing live preview interviews with their network hosts, the crowd was excited.
Most either had a large orange circular “Public Power” sign in hand or had an NDP pin on their lapel in support of the party and the leader. They chatted and laughed with one another and crowded around the televisions in the room watching the results.
The noise in the room, gradually at first, got quieter. First the results began to show very few NDP candidates ahead in their ridings. But as Liberal candidates became winners, with a check mark beside their picture on the screen, the room became much quieter.
People held their breath as they watched the number at the bottom of the screen showing the seats won or leading by the NDP at nine. It no longer was a question of whether the NDP would get more seats than in 1999, it was if they’d hold on to their official party status.
Though not quiet enough to hear a pin drop, when the number dropped to seven—one shy of official party status—the noise in the room was almost anti-climactic as the “worst” of the storm approached.
Hampton waited in his hotel room until it was official, hoping he wouldn’t have to face the provincial media storm with only seven seats.
As the his arrival became imminent, media crowded in front of the door in which he would appear. Pushing and shoving, each media member elbowed their way into the mess trying to get the best vantage point.
As Hampton entered, a circle of media and supporters surrounded him, giving him a small amount of “personal space” like a bubble around him.
The chaos stayed out of the bubble like the eye of a hurricane being calm of winds.
The spiraling throng of reporters and supporters followed Hampton around the room as he showed his appreciation to those gathered—though his head wasn’t held very high.
He made his way to the stage, where many of his family was gathered. He hugged his parents, and thanked his siblings and their children for their support.
As for the hurricane, it was approaching landfall.
Flashes erupted on the leader and hot floodlights beamed down on him from all directions. Lenses taking still and video images stared at him like cyclopes, capturing each moment.
Though things happened quickly (less than 10 minutes passed from his entering the room to finishing his speech), time seemed to move in slow motion as media circled the podium and the room trying to get the perfect picture. Myself included.
Then, with a fury, the hurricane hit land. The eye moved over the ‘X’.
The bubble that once had protected the leader shrunk skin tight as media packed in around him shoulder to shoulder. Microphones were shoved in his face from all directions and video cameras tried to find an unobstructed view in order to catch the leader answering their journalist’s question.
Camera flashes continued to go off like intense lightning.
And then it was over. The hurricane died out. What had once been a storm of activity was quickly just a group of us standing around an ‘X’ on the floor.
Hampton’s handlers once again had organized the chaos like some kind of super-weatherman.
The hurricane turned into a bunch of smaller storms that easily could be handled as Hampton went from camera to camera, reporter to reporter, answering questions over and over before taking refuge back in his hotel room.
When all was said and done, the damage that night had come from the polls—not from the media storm.
Fort Frances Times
Local News from Across the Rainy River District
